The Ropes
by Avillie
Summary: SAGA Part 2 Sam's account of what happens after Dean decides to pick up the pieces of the lives he's shattered. Unfortunately their quest is quickly interrupted by a case outside of Boston.
1. Chapter 1

**_The desperation in my brother's voice  
><em>****_set my every nerve ending on fire.  
><em>****_I felt my skin blaze with a wild fear._**

**_This wasn't happening. Not again._**

**_Dean screamed out my name one last time.  
>The sheer horror of realizing that<br>I could do nothing _****_to save him broke me._**

**_And, a__s much as I wanted to help him,  
>I just couldn't bring myself to do it.<em>**

_**I just could not do it**._

* * *

><p>"What the hell is this?" Dean snapped, bringing me back to the present. I might have jumped, not that he noticed. He just dug violently through the paper bag I'd given him, searching for something, before shoving it back in my direction and seeming quite appalled.<p>

He was unbelievable, I mean, after everything that had happened, you'd think he'd cut me some slack. But, no. Not Dean. He was still giving me crap—And over what? Gas station groceries? Really?

I channeled my breathing and calmed a bit before replying. "It's what you asked for..." I answered pretty confused, and straining for my manners. "Jerky, beer, and …lollypops?"

"That's funny. You knew exactly what I wanted, and yet you still screwed up. Are you trying to mess with me?"

"Mess with you?" I snorted so hard I was honestly surprised I hadn't blown out my eardrums. All I could do was shake my head at him "How the hell did I screw up? Look. Beer! Jerky! Lollypop!" I pulled each from the bag and held them up, but this time he just shook his head.

"That?" He laughed as though I was being absurd, "That is a lobster on a stick, Sam. Clearly 'Not' a lollypop!"

"It's '**candy**.' On. A. Stick." I was floored. He couldn't be serious. He thought I was messing with him? No, he was the one messing with me, and so I scoffed. "Unless they changed the definition of a lollypop, you're an ass."

"Now you hurt my feelings." He said smugly before putting the car in gear.

Nothing else was said, and that was fine by me. I didn't want to talk to him anyway. I didn't even want to be in this car with him, but it wasn't like I had a choice. I knew he was just going to leave, and then I'd be stuck here with all this misery. I could hitchhike, sure, but I didn't care to move. I knew that with all the guilt I was feeling right now, had we parted ways, I would have probably just laid down somewhere and died.

"Can we just go?" I snapped, after noticing we hadn't moved at all. I didn't want to think about this anymore. I just wanted to go, and yet minutes had passed and we were still just sitting in the gas station parking lot. Was he really that upset over candy? Was he going to go in the store and get something else? I didn't care. I just wanted to go. I just wanted to get the hell out of this place, and I was relieved to think that was what Dean wanted too, until he missed the turn for the interstate.

I didn't think much about it at first—figured that he had some back-road shortcut that would get us wherever he was going faster. Lately he was favoring the scenic routes, anyway, and I was honestly so angry with him, I didn't care how we got there, just so long as we got there. But my stomach soon sank when I saw the hospital.

"What are you doing?" I asked slowly. Nervously. I wanted to look at him, but I couldn't bring myself to. I didn't have the strength.

I wasn't sure if he'd lost his mind, or something, but this wasn't like him at all. This was "me" and something I would do—or, at least, something I would have done years ago. Maybe even a few months ago I would have come back here on my own guilt-ridden conscience, but not now. Something in me had broken, and this was the last place I wanted to be.

I didn't care for closure, because I knew there was none to be had. It was far too late to make amends, and I absolutely hated Dean for bringing me back here. I didn't know how he could come back; not after what had happened.

"Dean!" I snapped, desperate for his attention, but he just ignored me.

He pulled up to the visitor parking lot, jerked the car into park, and shut it off.

"I'm sorry." He said, staring out his window with an eerily distant look upon his face. "You were right. You said that this was going to happen, and you were right. I should have listened to you."

I snorted out an angry breath of air and wondered if he was seriously trying to make me feel better about this mess, or if he was just trying to clear his own conscience with that confession.

Up until this point, I was sure that I couldn't have felt worse, but now he chose to remind me that I had practically predicted this? Had he just listened to me, and had we left when I wanted to—the first two times—none of this would have happened. And while I had spared him the 'I told you so' speech a dozen times over, hearing the reverse from him only hurt me that much more.

Yes, Dean. I fucking told you so, but all the good it does now to simply "wish" you had listened to me two weeks ago. Now everything I feared would happen has happened, and there is nothing we can do about it.

Those were the thoughts I prayed he could somehow hear. I thought about saying them aloud, too, but deep down I knew this wasn't his fault. Not entirely. I mean, if anyone was to blame, it would technically be me. Hadn't all this been my fault?

"It's fine." I murmured under my breath. "What are we doing here?"

"I don't know…" He mumbled, "I tried to leave. It just… I need to know if she's going to be ok."

With that difficult confession, Dean hopped out of the car and slammed the door.

I closed my eyes.

In my heart I already knew that Kiers was dead. I just knew that much.

It had taken me all this time to get the image of her lifeless body out of my head. I had spent hours convincing myself that she'd just wake up, be fine, and go back to her life the way it was before we crashed it, but those were all lies—beautiful, selfish lies that kept me from facing the hardest truth. I killed her. She died because of me.

But that didn't make sense. She wasn't supposed to die.

In my vision, the one I'd had back in the cave, I clearly remembered her smiling. She was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, in that striped blue johnny, just smiling at me. Her long, dark hair framing her tired face in such a way that I had smiled back at her. We laughed together, and I knew everything was going to be ok.

Maybe there was still a chance?

I thought back to the night I had had that vision; we were trapped together and I lay dying in her arms. I remembered the embarrassed look she had on her face when she'd handed me two Midol capsules and a bottle of water. It made me smile and tear up at the same time.

_ "Take these." _She had told me,_ "It's all I have for painkillers, but they'll do the trick."_

I know that I'd been badly injured at the time, and I remembered the wild fear in her eyes when I tried to stand; falling over. I remembered her face, inches from mine as she caught me. Her cold fingers then slipping into the neck of my shirt. _"You're going to be okay."_ She had told me, staring firmly into my eyes, and she had been right.

I was okay. Sort of.

Even with all the uncertainty around her, she somehow knew that things would turn out okay at least for me. I remember seeing the fervor in her eyes, and it was oddly calming. She, a woman I'd only seen twice in my life, made me feel so completely safe despite the horrific reality of the situation. In that very instant, I recall being so drawn to her that I had to kiss her. I saw in her eyes that she felt it too; at least until my vision interrupted, smashing the moment like fine china.

In barely a second, I had seen what I thought had been a glimpse of our future together. Her, exhausted in the hospital, me standing back thankful she was going to be okay. Everything "working out," and being "okay," just like she had promised, but that wasn't good enough for me. If she was in the hospital, that meant she could have died. If she had died, it would have been my fault. It was in that sole instant I made the decision to stop things before they started.

Instead of kissing her, I let my head fell to her shoulder as it seared with over-exaggerated pain.

If I had kissed her then, I knew she would have ended up like Jess, or Madison... Tragically deceased.

That vision of her in that hospital bed had been a somber reminder of what a death trap my life was. Even though my vision had been proof that she'd survived round one, I knew I couldn't let her in. I couldn't do that to her, so I pushed her away. To keep her there, I made some comment about the diamond on her finger. I believed her when she said the mystery ring wasn't one of engagement, and I hated seeing that panged look on her face as she tried convincing me she wasn't the two-timing cheat I'd implied her to be.

It was just the easiest out I could find.

I passed out shortly after that fight, because the next thing I knew Dean was throwing shoes at my head. When I came to and saw my escape, I grabbed Kiers and the rest is ancient history.

I know that I must have missed something, though, because she still threw herself on the sword for me. Even after I had pushed her away. According to Dean, she'd turned to save me. And I still remember the conversation I'd had with her before she'd given in to the darkness. I'll never forget that, because she'd done that for me too.

Why?


	2. Chapter 2

I waited for Dean for what seemed to be hours, trying not to think. Thinking about it was too painful, but I couldn't stop. Thoughts flooded my mind, so I tried to remain indifferent about everything—especially the sacrifice Kiersa had made for me.

The sacrifice that had probably cost her her life.

Certain and now almost ominous memories stood out, not that there were many. After all, I barely knew this girl. But I remembered the strangely calm look she had when we first met, when she, alone, had stumbled upon Dean and me, after we'd broken into her house. She had been the one to catch us raiding her bedroom, like burglars, and while plenty would have freaked in that sort of situation, she just stood there.

It wasn't fear that kept her still. I know that now. In fact, even after Mariah had sprung into action and when she was seconds from calling the police, Kiersa was still completely calm. Unsure, and confused, but calm. Just as she had been calm back in the cave, when she told me she "just knew" that things were going to be ok. Had she known we meant her no harm?

From the very moment I laid eyes on Kiers, I knew she was different. Different from me, different from Dean, even different from her sister. I just could sense it in her and in the energy she had. She just "knew things," so had she known what was going to happen to her?

Words echoed in my mind. _"I need to know you'll _keep fighting." She had said, and I remembered that desperate look she had that last time I'd talked to her. The real her, before she'd gone dark. Before she'd "lost herself" as Meg had put it. Before she'd given in to the Darkness.

She had looked tired, but determined, and wise beyond her years. She told me that she had a plan, and that I had to trust her. That was all that she ever asked of me. This woman, whose last name I don't even know.

"I need you to promise to fight it."

Foolishly, I swore to her that I would make things right. That I would fix this mess and save her and Dean—only, I was in way over my head. I didn't stand a chance, nor did I know what I was up against. Did she? She couldn't have.

I went over things again and again in my head, and it didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. Why had she done it? She hated Dean, and I couldn't say that I blamed her. He stalked her almost obsessively until she finally agreed to give him a shot to prove his worth. And when she gave him that one shot, he blew it by getting into some sort of drunken brawl. I remembered him coming home that night and his screaming hysterics. Demons! He "had to stop them!" He "had to stop…"

It hit me like a ton of bricks. That whole night, he'd been screaming about Meg.

Kiers' voice again echoed back words I could only wish I had understood before. "_He must have had one too many,"_ She laughed. Moonlight gave her eyes a melancholy sparkle, and her distant smile convinced me she was quite uncomfortable with my drunken brother's arm wrapped so chummily around her neck. She supported him nonetheless.

Dean then wobbled into the motel, continuing his crazed babel by screaming about fire. He needed fire! It left both of us feeling an unspoken sense of responsibility: me to go supervise; her to explain what happened. Again, I felt she was holding something back. She couldn't have known, but she must have sensed something was wrong. _"He just… changed. All of a sudden; it was weird. Picked a fight with a mop named Meg."_

Meg. What was wrong with me? How could I have missed that?

I hated myself for ignoring all the obvious warnings, too. Dean's sudden snippiness with me? And the way he started to change? Obsessing over Mariah, confusing Queen with Elvis, and getting an apartment? A job?

I was finally starting to wonder how much of that was him and how much wasn't. Then again, his running theory had been that he had been himself all along—just a darker more menacing version of himself. I didn't buy it. I couldn't buy it. I couldn't do this anymore. Where the hell was Dean?

I suddenly regret that I did not check my watch when Dean went into the hospital. I have no way of knowing how long he's been in there—could it have already been a half hour? What was taking so long?

I felt the nerves in my arms and stomach start to hum with anticipation, but then curiosity wiped them as it struck my mind. Then they're back again as hope fills my chest. I wonder if Dean is in there right now with a perfectly-well Kiersa, laughing about the whole thing.

Was it possible? I had had that vision—could there be some truth to it? Could she be… My gut says no, but some little piece of me remained naively optimistic. After all, my visions are typically pretty accurate. Maybe, just maybe, she was ok.

I tried waiting a few more minutes for my brother, but a nagging pull draws me from the Impala. I find my heart racing as my body slowly gains speed. I'm at a dash as I reach the main entrance, and I don't stop until I've rested my hands upon the nurse's station.

"I'm here to see Kiersa," I nearly gasp, not out of exhaustion. My heart is racing with fear, and hope, and uncertainty. The nurse who seems to be at the very beginning of her shift, places her purse upon the counter and stares me down suspiciously before sitting down and pulling up the directory.

I take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself as the heavy-set blonde begins to type.

"Last name?" She pries, with a tone that further convinces me of her distrust.

Last name. Shit. My only response is a frustrated sigh, as that is one question I cannot answer. I can't answer any questions, really, I don't even know why I'm here.

I shake my head, and my eyes roll to the exit, but as I turn to leave, I change my direction. I start walking down the hallway, looking from room to room, slowly at first, but gaining momentum as I go. The nurse calls after me, but I don't hear her. All I hear is my heart racing again—blood pumping through my ears. I skim the doorways I pass, searching desperately for some sign of my brother, Mariah, or Kiers, but find none.

The first room is empty, the second has an old man watching football. Third is empty too. Really empty. So much so that I have to slow down.

There isn't even a hospital bed in the third room, but the lights are on just the same—as though someone has been there. Something isn't right, and as I enter the room I recognize Mariah's jean jacket. It sits on the waiting chair in the corner.

Empty.

I'm not sure my heart beats again until I sense someone behind me. I turn to see if it is my brother, but instead find a mid-sized security guard, and the now-angry nurse.

"She.…" I hear my voice, but I don't recognize it; I'm not even sure my lips have moved except for the curious looks on their faces. I try to shake my head, but find that I cannot move. Had they heard me? They just stare. The guard is speaking, but I can't hear what he's saying. My heart is racing again, but my body feels cold. Numb.

The room is empty.

The nurse's eyes turn left, as does the guard's. I peer out the door to see Dean and Mariah approaching with concern on their faces. Dean's face is emotionless; Mariah's stained red from tears.

"You know him?" The nurse asks skeptically. My hearing is, apparently, back, but my heart still races with every ounce of blood in my body.

Mariah nods and thanks "Nancy," as though she knows her personally, and with that confirmation the security guard relaxes and wanders off down the hall, stopping only to chat with an elderly woman. Nancy shakes her head, almost disapprovingly, before returning to her post.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes inquire, and wait patiently for my response. It's the only emotion he emits; curiosity, and I don't know what to say. I don't even know what's happened. My eyes travel back to the empty room.

"She should be back soon." Mariah says, "They say CT scans are actually easier with her…"

Dead. I think, she's dead. But that doesn't make sense. Autopsies are done with dead people, not CT scans. At least, I'd never heard it happening that way—and even still, why would we be waiting on Kiers' body to return? Dead bodies go to morgues. She must be alive.

I let out a sign of relief and close my eyes.

At least she's alive.


	3. Chapter 3

I was a fool.

A stupid, naive, idiotic fool for ever getting my hopes up.

With the realization Kiers was still alive, I found myself anticipating some sort of a happy ending, but once I saw her… Her lifeless body. So still? Hooked to all those machines with their blinking red lights and their beeping sounds. Whatever hope I'd managed to find in the situation quickly dissipated, and I hated myself for thinking things were just going to magically work out.

I was stupid. Just stupid.

There I was, standing just outside her door, and though I tried, I couldn't bring myself any closer than that.

Dean and Mariah had both followed the ensemble of Kiers' aids into the room. Mariah stood closest to her bed, and Dean stood nearest to me, but I didn't dare enter. I didn't know what to say, or do, though there were many things I wanted to have the strength for. I was overwhelmed with feelings I couldn't even recognize.

A part of me yearned to be by her side—to sit down next to her and just cry. I wanted to thank her. Hold her hand. Maybe run my fingers through her soft, brown hair or rest my head against hers like we had done before, in the cave. I wanted to tell her it would all be ok, and I wanted to say that without a shade of doubt my mind. I also wanted to scream. Hit or kill something, just to feel some sort of release from all these excruciating emotions. The pain. Frustration and anger. Hatred. Disgust. Disappointment. Regret. They all grabbed me at once and it was suffocating. I felt completely paralyzed, and even with all the things I wanted to do fresh in mind, I just stood there. Like the coward I was.

I couldn't bring myself any closer. Not with what I knew. Not with what Meg had told me.

Stupid Dean.

He couldn't just leave. He had to make this real.

I would have preferred it if we had just left—walked out, moved on, and forget—like we always did, but Dean had to say goodbye this time. He had to bring me back and rob me of the peace of mind I've always had in pretending the lives we've upturned can somehow go back to normal.

I guess I can understand why he wanted to say goodbye—I mean, of all the things I was wishing I could do saying, goodbye was certainly one of them. Saying goodbye meant we could leave on a happy note- not this incredibly sour one. But Dean was just as big a fool as I was.

I felt the overpowering urge to punch something again. A wall, maybe, or a mirror. A mirror would be better. It would be almost like retribution; I could smash myself. I could watch my face shatter and fall. The blood dripping down the wall. That would be what I deserved, but where would I find a mirror? I could just punch the wall. Anything to rid my body of this tension.

I lowered my head, not having the energy to follow through with my blow.

Finally, wrestling past my own self-revulsion, I worked up the courage to speak.

"So, what are they saying?"

I was certain that I did not want to hear the answer, nor did I want to see the look in anyone's eyes as it was said. I didn't look at Dean. I didn't look at Mariah. I didn't look at anything but the floor. I didn't want either of them and their judging eyes on me. I didn't want to exist on the same planet as these people, or any people. I just wanted to die.

I heard Mariah laugh. Scoff, really. It was honestly the last reaction I would have expected from anyone in her shoes, and it was a scoff so vile I could only imagine it was directed at me. Was she mad at me? Did she know I was to blame? Did Dean tell her this was all my fault? That the monster that did this to her sister was after me the whole time?

No, he wouldn't have. But could she have known? Had Kiers known? God, I just wanted to scream these thoughts out of my head. I just wanted them gone.

I felt what could only have been Mariah's angry body storm past me in the doorway, and I wished I could have eaten my words. What a stupid question. Why did I even ask? Why did I even come in here? I felt my throat choking up and my body start to tremble. I let myself lean against the door frame for support, glancing briefly up at Dean. He didn't seem to notice. He just stared blankly at the nurses hooking Kiers up to more machines—the ones stationed in her room.

I couldn't tell you what the machines were, or what they were for, I just knew the stench of hospitals made me cringe. My insides felt crushed under an enormous pressure, that both hurt and chilled at the same time. As I struggled to breathe and get enough air in my lungs to ask just how bad it was, my brother spoke.

"Drugs." His soft, yet all too familiar sarcasm interrupted my thoughts.

I had to look up again to make sure he wasn't mocking me, but I could tell by the distance in his eyes that he wasn't.

"Drugs?" I questioned; my voice was weak. For the first time in hours my brain fell completely silent as I tried to figure out what 'drugs' could possibly have to do with anything. Not a thought popped in or out. My body felt empty, but not in a bad way. In a good, freeing way that didn't last long.

"Yeah, they don't know anything," he added. "Really."

He paused, leaving me only seconds to think about that comment.

"They can't find anything wrong, so they think she's drugged out. Od'ed on something."

I saw his head shake out of the corner of my eye as he mumbled, "idiots" under his breath. His mumble, however, was so loud one of the nurses stopped what she'd been doing to glare in his direction. I don't think he cared, though. He just kept his blank stare on Kiers.

I sighed when I had finally processed the update. I suppose I was mostly disappointed, yet slightly relieved by the news.

Nothing was wrong. Nothing was right, either, but nothing was wrong.

I didn't know how to feel about that.

"This wasn't supposed to happen." Dean's head shook again, angrily this time. "And I know that it sucks, but it is not our fault."

I barely recognized his voice this time, or when he repeated himself. "You know that, right?"

He said it again as though he was trying to convince himself, or something.

"This is not our fault, Sammy. That heartache in there? That is exactly what we fight to prevent every day. We save lives."

Now I knew he was lying, I just wasn't sure if he was lying to himself, or lying to me. Nonetheless, I was furious at how could he stand there and preach about being heroes, when the only hero in sight was lying comatose in the bed just feet away from us.

The woman who'd died for me.

Now I wanted to punch him.

No.

It wasn't his fault.

It was mine. My fault.

Maybe he didn't know that. It would be good if he didn't. No one needed to know I had killed her. I wished that I could somehow not know.

Deans lips pressed together as though he had been tempted to say something else, but instead he just kept staring off into the distance. He stayed this way for a few minutes, until the expression in his eyes suddenly changed. From pity in Kiers' plight, to an alarming curiosity, they turned and looked me over, and as I stood there, self-loathing, he figured it all out.

He figured something out, anyway, because I heard him quietly say, "You knew."

The simplicity of whatever he'd uncovered almost made him laugh—as though he should have known better, or sooner. Yes, he should have somehow seen it before. There was also a soft and curious conviction in his words—as if he was still doubting the realization he'd come to. As I tried to figure out whether he was asking me a question, or making his final conclusion on the matter, I started to fear where this conversation would lead us.

I knew I couldn't handle it.

It was hard enough just knowing all this was my fault—but to admit it? To him? To say it out loud? For everyone to know?

"Knew what?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent. A part of me was, or at least was starting to believe that I was. That part of me had been dying since I got here. I was weak, and I couldn't handle taking on any more responsibility for this. Denial was far easier. Not caring was even easier.

"That…" Dean struggled as he thought aloud, "this would happen…That both of them… That she… Killing Meg would..."

The sound of that monster's name made my stomach turn, and for a split second I even felt my blood stop flowing. I hated Dean for mentioning her, but I knew he was just trying to make sense of things. And he was right.

I knew exactly what my brother meant to say. And, yes, it was true. I had known all along that killing Meg meant killing Kiersa, and that was why I'd been so hesitant. Even as my brother had pleaded with me, I did not have the guts to save him, because it meant killing her.

My body went numb.

"Yeah." I gulped, and I thought back to that exact moment.

"I knew."

The choice I had was simple, even with the world spinning around me. To smash the pendant and save my brother's live meant I would be killing Kiers, but if I waited just a few minutes longer? Could I have saved her? If I had let myself go and embraced the darkness, I could have saved Kiersa's life. I could have repaid her for the sacrifices she'd made for me.

Yes, I had known smashing the pendant meant the end for her, and I'd senselessly hoped that telling Dean would somehow make it easier on me. That maybe, if someone else knew, it wouldn't be so big a burden. Unfortunately, it wasn't any easier now that Dean knew. Secret or not, it didn't make the guilt or pain any less. In fact, I think it made it worse.

It made it real.

"I'm sorry, Sam. …I didn't know."

A part of me wondered if he was lying.

Thinking back, he had to have known, or at least suspected something. Did he really think I'd sit back and let him die if I could stop it? Shouldn't he have realized I'd been reluctant for some good reason—why was he just now figuring this out?

It didn't matter, though. It wasn't his fault, it was mine, and I knew that. I took a deep breath in and closed my eyes.

"I could have saved her," I admitted softly.

He shook his head, "No, Sam. We can still save her."

"No." I laughed sadly, and, for the first time, I looked at Kiers. I mean, I really, really looked at her. Tears filled my eyes as I tried to let loose this one last secret.

"I could have changed it. It should have been me."

The air around me seemed to grow dark, along with my brother's voice as he snapped.

"What!"

I took a breath. One weak and cowardly breath.

"It should have been me." I told him.

"Wha—No, Sam! No! ...NO!" Dean repeated, nervously agitated.

"Yeah." I shook my head, harder and harder the more I remembered, but not once—not even for a second—did I take my eyes off of Kiersa's lifeless body. Even as the tears burned my cheeks, I forced myself to look at her. Only because I was too much of a coward to face Dean with this admission.

"I had the chance to change it. All I had to do was open myself up. Let it in." I turned to my brother with closed eyes. I didn't have to see him to know he was furious with me.

"And you didn't. You fought it." Dean's voice was loud. Proud and angry. As if I'd done the right thing, but knowing the truth killed me.

"You did the right thing, Sam!"

"...I didn't fight it." My face cringed, and my eyes shut even tighter. I felt better, but weaker at the same time. "I didn't."

I inhaled deeply, bit my lip as hard I could taste blood. Then, fighting the urge to explode, I started shaking my head again as though it might help. "I couldn't." I sobbed, "I didn't want to, and I didn't. Dean, I wanted it to be me—I wished to hell it had been me, I still do."

"Don't say that!" He snapped, sounding angrier than ever. I didn't dare open my eyes, now, not even when his hand grabbed at my shoulder and shoved me, hard, into the door frame. "Don't you EVER say that! Sam, Look at me!"

But I couldn't. Salty blood was still fresh on my tongue; my eyes and teeth remained clenched. I swallowed and fought the weakness in my legs. Then I fought off the urge to punch him square in the face. I wanted to. My mind was screaming to. All that stopped me was knowing he was right.

Dying was one thing, but turning completely evil was something else. I knew it was wrong for me to have even considered it, but in the moment—and to save the person who'd done everything in her power to protect me—it had just seemed so right.

"It's the truth." I laughed, and for the first time I felt free. Shook my head again and opened my eyes. Not to look at Dean, but to look at her. Even as she lay there deathly still, she was beautiful, and it was her beauty that made it hardest of all.

I turned to my brother, with my eyes open this time so that he could see my pain. "This? All of it..?" I sighed, looking at her one last time, "This is because of me."

He shook his head with a soft smile. As though I was being silly.

"I know how you must feel." He started so sincerely that I had to laugh.

"Do you?" I was surprised by the tone of my voice. I was no longer ashamed, and he knew it.

"Do you really?"

The thought of him possibly knowing how I felt was absurd. Laughable.

"She is here, DYING, because of me; because she gave in. Not just once, but twice. TWICE, Dean. How the hell could you possibly know what that feels like?"

I gave up. I didn't want to yell at him. I didn't want to punch him anymore, either. I didn't want to look at him. I hated him. And of all the things he could have said, of all the words that would have made it better? He just stood there. Like dad would, only worse. I guess I was just waiting for him to worsen things. Half expecting him to crack a joke, or make some wise-ass remark. Or, better yet, another comment about all the "good" we do for people.

Had to give him credit for keeping his mouth shut, but I just needed someone to tell me it was all going to be okay. Like Kiers had done, only I needed HER to be okay. I just wanted her to be okay, but the sounds coming from inside the room were solemn reminders of the truth.

I closed my eyes again and let my head rest against the door.

When I opened them again, Dean was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

In the moments shortly after my brother had left the room, I found myself remembering the words he'd shared with Mariah before all this had happened. The words I was never meant to hear.

_"… there is something in this town" _He told her, _"changing people."_ His words were hasty, and desperate. I had thought this was because of the urgency of the situation, because he didn't have time to waste, but now I know it was because of the secret he was hiding. A secret he didn't plan on sharing with anyone.

_"What does this have to do with my sister?"_ She had asked; her angry eyes saw me coming but didn't care. She was too confused and too concerned about her sister to acknowledge me, and so Dean never knew I was there. Behind him.

Had he known that, he never would have said it.

_"Kiers made a deal with it. She's changed too."_ He'd explained carefully; his words cut me like a knife, but they made Mariah laugh.

_"Do expect people to actually buy this crap?" _She asked me.

She had turned her eyes towards me as she laughed, and that is when my brother's body tensed. That was when I found out the truth, and I found that I couldn't breathe. I found the world crashing around me.

_"Deal?"_ I remembered squinting. _"What deal?"_

Fears I had managed to suppress up to that point surfaced and were confirmed as my brother attempted to avoid the conversation. I knew that the deal, whatever it was, had something to do with me. My destiny.

_"Doesn't matter."_ He snapped, but there wasn't a chance in hell I'd let him off that easy. A surge of fear hit me when the word 'deal' came from his lips, and I needed to hear the rest.

_"Dean. What deal?"_ My eyes grew hard. My voice was hard. He had to look away, so I knew. He looked back to Mariah, but her eyes weren't any softer. He couldn't escape this conversation.

_"She…"_ He started softly, _"She made a deal to protect you, Sam."_

Another presence brushed past me in the doorway, jolting me out of that memory and back to the present. It was a nurse—a young, dark-haired boy that must have been fresh out of college. He tilted his head, humbly, as he passed me. I just gulped, praying I could disappear.

I couldn't stay here. I couldn't think about this. I had to get away from this place—as far away as I could get and as fast as I could get there. I turned and left without so much as a second thought or a final glance in her direction.

Of course, then I hated myself for being so abrupt. I found myself thinking, "Now she's going to die, and it is because you didn't say goodbye. You didn't even say 'thanks.' You ass. You didn't even think about her when you left. You just left. Like you always leave. If she dies, it is all on you."

I couldn't go back, though. I had to keep walking, even though each step became more difficult. I had to go. I kept pushing myself on, down the hall, through the lobby. I couldn't have reached the exit quick enough. The doors swooshed open and I felt a burst of cool air hit my face. Had I been breathing up until this point? I couldn't say. All I knew was for a short second I had felt free.

Glancing around the parking lot, I saw Dean. He was leaning against the car with his chin in his palm—pointer finger stretched up towards his eye and thumb wrapped tightly to his jaw. He was contemplating something deep, but I didn't care. I just wanted to leave.

"We need to go." I said, determined to not take 'no' for an answer.

He looked up at me, oddly, and shook his head. "Not the problem."

'The' problem? His words threw me off guard for a moment. I'd expected some resistance about leaving, but was glad when he'd seemingly agreed. Still, his response was strange to me. The way he said it was… Then I noticed.

"Dean?" I asked nervously, my eyes glancing up from Mariah, sitting comfortably in the passenger's seat.

He took a deep breath, dropped his hand to his side and smiled awkwardly. Not as if he was happy, or anything, but as though he'd been caught in an uncomfortable situation.

"She offered to sit in the back—I told her you wouldn't mind."

"Mind?" I was too confused to process why I would mind anything. "Dean, why is she in the car at all?"

"She's coming with us, Sam."

"Are we dropping her off somewhere? Shouldn't she stay here?" I ask. This didn't make sense.

"No, she's coming with us, Sam."

I half-shake my head as I try to understand what he's telling me.

"I sort of promised her I would make this right." He licked his lips.

I shake my head again and try rewinding his words. Had I heard them wrong? Was he being serious? "Dean." I said, and then repeated—having lost count of how many times I'd said his name. "Dean, she can't come with us."

He said nothing.

"Her sister is in there, probably dying. And you want to drag her away?" He shook his head as though I was wrong, but I kept at it. "So, what? ..You can play the part of the hero in some selfish plan to win her over?"

"You're wrong." He snapped. I hadn't seen that reaction coming. "Ok? You're wrong. This isn't about me, and it's not about her. This is about Kiers, and we are going to fix this."

I saw the desperation in his eyes, but I laughed anyway. "How? We don't even know what's wrong with her."

"Nobody does." He scoffed, "And that doesn't matter. We know a hell of a lot more than her doctors, and Bobby?"

"Bobby isn't answering. He hasn't returned out calls in days. For all we know…"

"Shut up." His eyes warned me more than his words. "We're going to fix this." He said again. "My mind's made up. Mariah's mind is made up. Now, are you coming or not?"


	5. Chapter 5

After processing, I got into the backseat of the car.

I wasn't sure how I felt.

Had I a strong feeling in either direction, I would have said something, but my objection seemed strangely 'in check' by my relief.

I didn't want Mariah tagging along for the sheer fact I knew it would probably get her killed, yet something about this situation felt completely right. I knew it was impossible, I knew it was dangerous, and hopeless, and crazy and just plain stupid. But I also knew it was the right thing to do. Even if there was nothing we could do, we were at least trying to fix what we'd broken. In our own weird way, we were making amends.

So the three of us hit the road, and I hit the hay. The nag in me was bound to ruin that altruistic logic, and I couldn't stand being stuck in my head anymore. I hoped that sleep would rid my mind of all this guilt.

I should have known better.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Do you feel it?"_

_Meg's words whispered in my mind. Smooth. Seductive._

_Her smile, softly fierce, urged me to take in the memory I had spent so much energy repressing, and from the corner of my eye I saw Dean. He was trapped by what I had initially thought was some sort of zombie. Long dark hair and pale skin to match her awkward stance—but zombie didn't make sense. Only Kiers made sense. It was her._

_I knew I had fallen asleep, but__this dream was like a drug I couldn't wake from. A dream I didn't want to leave. I was too afraid__this was somehow important and that I might see something. Some clue I had missed. Some way I could help her. It compelled my eyes shut, my mind focused, and my senses alert, despite the fear rising from my gut._

_Everything was so real—every detail exactly as I had remembered it. The dead silence of the woods paired with the fresh scent of spring and cool, crisp air. The grinding gravel beneath my feet as I exited the cave—even the light flickering down through the pines—but what I remembered most of all was her purr. _

_"It's inside of you, Sam…" Her velvet tone wrapped around me, silencing my fears and encompassing my every hope with promises. __"Savor it." Meg's words echoed, "Save her."_

I gasped awake and grabbed fistfuls of my hair as I tried to catch my breath. The gesture helped calm my nerves, but it didn't help convince anyone that I was okay. The memory's intensity instantly replaced by embarrassment as my brother spoke.

"You all right, Sam?" Dean's eyes looked me over from the rearview mirror. Mariah, who had turned a good portion of her upper torso to see me, smiled faintly before politely turning her attention back to the road.

I bit down hard on my lip.

Remembering the taste of blood from the last time I had done so, I found the lack of pain unusual. Another, more intentional glimpse at my reflection proved no recent injuries existed on my face. No scratches, no bruises, and, most of all, no cut lip.

I wiped my face with my hand as I tried calculating the length of my nap. Already, I hadn't shaved in about a week, so the stubble was not alarming. It was, however, indication that not much time had passed during my slumber.

Dean's eyes caught mine in the mirror and I looked away.

It was bright outside, brighter than I remembered it being so it must have been Tuesday. There was no way I'd slept for more than a night, which meant it was definitely Tuesday. April 3rd, 2007.

"Well, good then." Dean said, "It's time for breakfast."


	7. Chapter 7

No questions were ever asked, which made the awkward tension in the car unbearable. Mariah stared down at her lap, Dean stared out the window, and I just stared blankly between them, wishing someone would say something to lighten the mood.

But what was there to say?

A half hour had passed before Dean finally pulled the car over, ending his quest for breakfast. He parked between an old station wagon and green jeep, then hopped from his seat muttering only that he needed some coffee.

Mariah sat a moment longer; her body language read as though she wanted to say something—as if she wanted to look up at me, but she kept her head held tense, and low. Then she opened the door and followed my brother.

I rested my head back against the seat as they walked up to the diner. Relief washed over me, and a deep sigh released the tension that had built up under my skin. I felt free of everything—their judging thoughts, their pitying eyes, Mariah's scorn.

Feeling perfectly content in missing the meal, I closed my eyes and focused my breathing. It was a technique I'd picked up somewhere, and it promoted relaxation. Deep breaths in, deeper breaths out.

Silent thoughts crossed my mind as I sat there. First, the photo I had dropped when Mariah had made lunch. Then, the desperation in Kiers' eyes as I lost my balance in the cave. Me carrying her lifeless body. Dean's eyes as he told me I deserved better; the kiss I'd turned away from. The cross Mariah had thrown in Dean's face.

The four rounds I'd shot into my brother. That jolted me back awake.

'Ok,' I thought to myself with a few more deep breaths, 'sleep is out.'

I looked around the empty car, the empty street, and felt overwhelmed by it all. The loneliness crept up my arms and pooled deep in my stomach. I couldn't sit here. Not with these thoughts. I took one last breath and got out of the car.

The cliché bell diners typically have had been replaced with a motion-censored singing fish named Billy which suggested I 'don't worry and be happy.' It startled me a bit, when I entered, but mostly I wanted to punch it. Instead I cringed and scanned the diner for my brother. I saw his back, Mariah's weary face, and the blonde waitress greeting them.

"Haven't seen you around here before," She smirked in her best effort to be polite. One would have had to have been blind not to notice how uncomfortable she was. I found this intriguing.

Dean noticed her hostility right away and curiously looked up from his menu with a wide smirk. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Blonde. Barely out of high school. Angelic face, cute nose, and freckles. Pentagram dangling from her neck—just his type.

"Haven't seen a waitress into sadism before." His brow rose with that entrapping question. Clearly he was testing her knowledge of the symbol her fingers now clutched.

"It's for protection." She said rolling her eyes, as though every other person on earth had already lectured her on the dangers of that piece.

"I know," Dean beamed, which made her tense even more. "Which makes the question: what does a girl like you need protection from?"

"What do you want?" Her eyes now glared. Dean just kept on smiling, curiously.

"Eggs, bacon, sausage and coffee. Black."

"I'll try the veggie omelet." Mariah spoke up, hoping, but failing, to clear the air. She glanced between the two with an awkward smile, then squinting angrily at my brother, almost embarrassed by his behavior.

"Just coffee. Thanks." I interrupt the tension by walking to the booth. Surprised, the waitress nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked up at me briefly, but quickly turned her eyes back to my brother before taking off for the kitchen.

"Weird." Dean murmured looking to me for my opinion; I had none, though Mariah's expression seemed interested. Unfortunately for Dean, she was not at all interested in the waitress.

"You're not going to eat?" She turned her full attention to me, actually sounding as though she cared. I just shook it away and changed the subject.

"Did you hear from Bobby?" I ask. Now, Dean's eyes narrow, but just as Mariah had remained oblivious to Dean's keen interest in the waitress' behavior, Dean was missing my interest in Bobby. To be fair, though, he was probably just ignoring it.

"Seriously," He says, shaking his head, "Nobody else found that chick more than a little strange?" His eyes glanced over both sides of the table before he sighed.

"I'm worried, Dean." I, again, changed the subject to Bobby. "It's not like him. I've called him for 3 straight days, now. Something is wrong."

Another sigh escaped Dean's lips and he closed his eyes, not knowing what to say. Seconds later, our coffee was slammed to the table, accompanied with another weary stare. I caught a soft beam in Dean's eyes just after it happened, as if he'd been reminded of something pleasant, but that brief happiness soon faded.

"Whatever it is," Dean said indifferently picking up his mug, "There is nothing we can do about it today. We will deal with Bobby's problem when we get there tomorrow. First let's just worry about the task at hand."

"Which is…?" I didn't know what he was talking about, and so as he took his first sip of coffee I asked him to clarify. I'm not sure he heard me over the foul taste in his mouth. The second I'd asked, "What task?" he'd stood up, spitting the drink back into his mug and groaning loudly.

"WHAT THE FU.."

The place quieted faster than anyone could have imagined, and the whole restaurant turned and watched, half in horror and half in amazement, to see what Dean's next move would be. Luckily, he'd caught himself in the eyes of a 9-year-old's stare.

"…Ruit Loops did you put in this coffee?" His cover caused smirks to appear on the faces of a few patrons, and I will admit I couldn't help but laugh myself. The horror frozen on my brother's face after noticing all eyes were upon him? His shoulders hunched as if someone had just thrown something at his head? The sight was comical enough for me to have forgotten all my worries and regrets. At least for a minute.

"God damn it" Another voice cursed in the kitchen, less aware or concerned of the captive audience.

"Mary," Snapped the big-gutted, apron-tossing, red-faced man who suddenly burst from the kitchen. He looked at our waitress (apparently Mary) with an intense frustration.

"I told you to stop putting garlic in the damn coffee. There is no such thing as vampires! Now get the hell out of my restaurant! You're fired!"

With everyone's attention now on the old man, Dean quickly sat down and shot me a look that read somewhere between 'interesting' and 'told you so.' Then he jumped up to chase after Mary as she stormed out of the diner.

"Should I even ask?" Mariah turned to me curiously.

I just shook my head.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean came back sometime later with a smile on his face and his shirt saturated with what I could only imagine was holy water.

I pictured him grabbing the woman in the street; her splashing him defensively, hoping to ward him off. I was pretty sorry I had missed it.

"What happened?" Mariah asked, but he just shook his head and sat down to eat his breakfast. It was probably well past cold by now, but he didn't care. He gobbled it down just the same-happy just to have a decent meal.

He chose to enlighten us between mouthfuls, even though I had already figured it out.

"Mistaken Identity." Dean laughed, "Apparently something about my broody demeanor and keen knowledge of the occult convinced our waitress I was, in fact, a vampire." He smiled proudly with another forkful of sausage.

"A vampire?" Her reaction convinced me that she hadn't even suspected this much, and when she turned to check my reaction, I softened my eyes because I knew how overwhelmed she must have felt with everything.

Dean didn't notice, or he pretended not to, and reached for his coffee, pausing momentarily when he remembered its horrid taste. Not thinking twice, I slid my untouched cup across the table; his eyes fell from mine and focused harshly on the porcelain mug. Just like that, all the life had been sucked right out of the noisy diner.

My sacrifice had solidified a fear that had been looming in Dean's gut—the fear that he was losing me. I was sitting right in front of him, but he knew that I was beginning to shut down. Not eating. Not sleeping. Not feeling. In that second, he had realized we were back to the despair we knew so well, and there wasn't anything he could do for me. His reluctant acceptance of my drink was his silent acknowledgement of my misery.

"Yes." He picked up the conversation with sarcasm after his first sip. "It's a blood-sucking creature."

"I know what it is, Dean." She scoffed, still trying to wrap her brain around everything. I just stared at the table feeling awkward, like a third wheel.

"I guess I'm just…. I mean… This is a lot to take in." Her head shook with this confession.

"Well, if it is any consolation, you're 'taking it in' remarkably well." My brother smirked, oblivious the brokenness she felt.

"I don't have a choice." She snapped, and just like that, whatever small comfort I'd found in that diner was gone. I thought about Kiers, again, and in an instant all the pain I'd tried to forget had resurfaced. All the humor I'd seen in Dean's wet shirt and spiked coffee was gone, and I was back facing the harsh reality of the situation.

"Don't confuse this…" Her hands gestured between them implying their current proximity to one another, "I'm here to help my sister. Nothing else."

I watched nervously for Dean's reaction, but he took the rejection better than I would have imagined. It was the guilt that humbled him, as though he'd known all along he'd never get close to her.

"Well." He said without so much as a flinch, "There have been some vamp sightings in the area." Dean's voice was monotonous as he cut up his first egg.

"Sightings?" I tried to sound curious, but I was too upset to seriously entertain the conversation.

"Yup." Dean's head shook with a mouthful. He chewed as he talked and continued to speak with such an odd detachment. "I guess within the past few weeks there have been at least 5 attacks, and get this: all high school kids from surrounding cities."

"How many deaths?" I ask, finally feeling a stir of interest.

"Surprisingly? None. So either we've found another nest of friendly fangs, or we've officially entered the TwiWorld."

"TwiWhat?" Mariah squinted, I did too, but not because I didn't understand the reference. I didn't understand the situation.

"Wait, no deaths?" I scoff. "How is that possible? I mean, garlic and holy water? Surely not everyone is as prepared as… 'Mary,' and we both know neither of those things will stop a vampire."

"I know." Dean nodded, ripping off a piece of his toast and wiping his plate clean of yolk.

"So, what? Is it some kind of prank?" I ask. From the corner of my eye, I notice Mariah's face. She is clearly upset, confused, and ready to snap again. Dean doesn't pick up on this, which quickly leads to his own demise.

"It's a strong possibility considering the age group. I guess we'll just have to find out." He shrugged.

"Find out?" Mariah blinked away the shock. "What about my sister? And your friend Bobby?"

Dean licked his bottom lip before biting it, finally picking up on her feelings. He even seemed to consider them before his reply.

"With all due respect, your sister is stable and not going anywhere. And Bobby is the best hunter we know; he's fine! But the people in this town won't be so lucky if we don't help them. Right, Sam?"

He looked to me for support, but I had none.

"No." My head shook and it left me feeling a little dizzy. "Dean whatever is attacking people is clearly not threat. You're probably right, this is probably just some stupid prank. I say we go find Bobby."

"And I say no one else is dying on my watch!" He snapped, startling me. Mariah sighed, anger fading with the sound. His detachment finally made sense to me. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was that he did. He cared a lot and probably felt as bad about Kiersa as I did, but his blinding obligation to protecting people had caught him in a bind. Yes, what happened to Kiers sucked, but it could very easily happen to any single person in this town if we walked away, and it wasn't fair to abandon with a similar fate.

"Fine." I said, "So where do we start?"

"The ropes." Dean chuckled to himself and turned to Mariah, "Nobody else is dying on my watch."

He rose from our booth, tossing cash to the table, and left.


	9. Chapter 9

"Lesson one." Dean spoke as he rushed to the car. Mariah was on his heels, and I trailed behind them both, still attempting to figure out where my brother was taking this conversation. "Forget everything you've ever learned about vampires."

The confidence in his voice was a clear indication of the expertise he'd gained from years of hunting, which explained why his head was held so high— he was trying to show off. "Stakes, crosses, garlic—and holy water?"

It was in that moment I realized exactly what he had meant by starting at 'the ropes.' I stopped walking long enough to process. The 'no one' he'd referred to back in the diner had not been limited to the people of this town, it had also included Mariah— or it had meant her specifically. She was not to die on his watch, and he was planning on keeping her alive by training her.

An interesting notion which made perfect sense. Well, it was absolutely insane, but logical. It was crazy to think she could tag along and remain oblivious to the work we did. Even crazier would be expecting her to survive without knowing.

"They're all useless" He opened the Impala's door and paused, "unless your ultimate goal is to piss them off with cheesy clichés."

We had spent our whole lives shielding innocents from this life, and now Dean was giving a crash-course in crazy to this girl we barely knew. I shook my head as I stood there, taking it all in. She was squinting inquisitively at him, hanging captivated by his every word. He was speaking so proudly I had practically flashed back to my college days, remembering the confidence with which my professors spoke.

"And decapitation?" Mariah asked, stopping either because she'd noticed I had or because she wanted Dean's attention. My brother's eyes, which had been staring advertently at the sky dropped to meet hers with a wild intrigue.

"Oh, come on, I've seen Buffy." She smirked, and he did too as he rested his arms on the roof of the car.

"Decapitation is the only thing that will kill them. Sunlight might slow them down, but don't count on them bursting to flames. Decapitation will always do the trick."

"Ok." She nodded, trying to digest everything. With a firm nod, she began walking again, and he hopped into the car. She gets in next, and I start walking toward the car.

I still hear them, but only because the windows are down.

"Dead man's blood is also something we can use. Vampires need fresh blood. Ingesting blood from a corpse is like drinking hemlock."

"It won't kill them," I chime in, to avoid misleading her. I open the back door and hop in. "It will just make them sick."

"So," She pauses and turns to Dean, "How are we going to know a vampire from… anybody else? I mean, they look human, right?"

"Their charming smile come snack time." He laughed, starting the car and backing out of his parking spot.


	10. Chapter 10

A few miles down the road we found the Lynn Inn, a freakishly purple, seemingly ritzy colonial-style hotel. It was a bit pricey compared to the places we'd normally stay, which further convinced me Dean was just showing off. However, we were in a hurry to get to work, so I knew that also played a small factor in the decision making.

We rented a single room, not much thinking about sleeping arrangements. Our only immediate concern was getting cleaned up and finding the police station before 5PM. The sooner we were presentable the sooner we could find some answers, solve this mystery, and move on.

I shaved while Dean showered and Mariah made a few phone calls.

I could hear her on the phone, though I could not make out much of the conversation over the running water. Had I wanted to, I could have moved closer to the door and eavesdropped, but I felt I owed her privacy. Plus she sounded fine—neither angry nor upset—so I assumed everything was fine and focused on the task at hand.

I squirted another dollop of shaving cream onto my fingertips and brought it to my cheeks, pausing as the blade of my razor caught my eye. I pushed aside a horrid thought and continued spreading the cream over my skin, then looked up at my reflection in the mirror. Fuck the razor, I could have ripped my own throat out right then and there. The very fact that I could stand there with not a scratch on my face or blemish to my image, while a young woman… While Kiers. I forced a breath, forced myself to walk away from that thought. But bile rose in my throat and my insides felt crushed. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I needed to smash something. I needed a release. I needed to cry, or kill something, or a train to jump in front of.

It didn't make sense. I mean, what had she seen? What could anyone have seen in me? I was a liar. A cheat. A monster—a monster that killed things for a living. One destined to become so nefarious none others would speak of my intended havoc. My insides burned with disgust. I hated me. The very sight of me was...

A knock on the door jolted the self-hatred right out of me. It was a reminder of two things—one, that I was not alone on this planet and any attempted suicide would undoubtedly be foiled by my brother, who stood inches from me in the shower. The second being that Mariah was on the other side of that door counting on me to save her sister. Counting on me to do MY JOB and fix all this.

The pity train would have to wait.

Briskly, I finished up my shave and hollered a "Be right there," to whomever had knocked. Room service? No, Mariah would have answered that knock. Could there have been a problem with our credit card? A new panic rose in my chest as I grabbed a soft blue face cloth from the counter reached for the door.

Dean mumbled something behind the curtain, but I was too preoccupied to care. I could picture the manager questioning Mariah about our "credit card" and her insisting he had the wrong room—that we were not "the Schmidts" without it ever dawning on her that our entire existence depended upon fraud and deceit.

Instead I opened the door and found the living quarters of our room strangely quiet. "Mariah?" I questioned, though it was apparent she was no longer present. I rubbed the blue cloth against my cheeks as I made my way to the door. The knock repeated a third time, and without bothering to check the peep hole, I opened it to see Mariah warding off a look of embarrassment.

"I forgot my key." She said suddenly distant. I could tell just by her voice that something more was wrong, but her eyes told me that it was her secret to keep. That I shouldn't ask. That I should just move out of the way and let her into the room.

Suddenly aware of the fact I was still blocking her in the doorjamb, I let the door swing open and stepped aside. "Everything ok?" I ask anyway. Her body tenses a bit and she swings her arms but she turns to me with a polite smile.

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

I was sure she was lying, but I didn't pry. I tried reading her face, not that I knew it well. She didn't seem upset, or angry, or anything but tired. Tired and tense.

"I guess I'm just still trying to process everything." She sighed, and maybe that was the truth. It was a lot to process. I crumbled the blue cloth in my right hand, wishing I had something more to add.

"Well, for what it's worth, Dean's right. You're taking it all pretty well." I smiled, and as if on cue, the bathroom door swung open and out came my brother, shirtless, and smiling.

"What am I right about? Never mind. Hurry up, Sam, we need to get a move on."

But I'm still frozen. Of all the things I could have said, and of all the times I could have said it? What an idiot I was to third-person her like that—to talk about her through my brother, as though I'm incapable of making the same deductions—and Dean? Had he just coincidently picked that moment to burst in, or had he been waiting for a chance to make such a grand entrance?

For a brief second, I see that she's laughed off my oddity, and perhaps forgiven me for the awkwardness in the doorway. Perhaps she even realized I had not helped my brother stage his grandeur return, and was coming to realize he was just the ham that he was. Or maybe she was just being polite. Pretending to hide her disdain for me.

In the bathroom, I could hear them talking. They waited until I had turned the water on, which I found strange. I took my shirt off slowly, hoping to hear a bit of their conversation, but it was so hushed I would have had to either gone out there or shut the shower off to hear them. Plus, I had a feeling if I had done either of those things they would have stopped talking anyway. I decided it wasn't worth it, and that if anything important had happened, Dean would tell me later.

The reflection of my bare chest in the mirror caught my eye. Not a scratch marked my skin, not a bruise or any other record of what had happened despite the stain it bore on my memory.

_"You lost a lot of blood,"_ Kiers had said to me—panic surged in her eyes. I was light headed, and remembered the pain that spread across my stomach. I remembered coming to in the warmth of her arms and the alarm of her delicate fingers pressing into my side. Those bloody fingers she'd wiped upon her jeans. All the blood—it came from somewhere, but searching for wounds at this point would be pointless. I knew there were none.

A slamming door brought me back to the hotel room. I could hear Dean cursing as though he'd done something wrong. I almost called to him, but I didn't care; all I could think about was the door Kiers had slammed in my face, when she'd tried protecting me from Dean. Brought tears to my eyes as I tried repressing yet another memory of her. This needed to stop. I grabbed at my wrist, but soon realized the mark my nails left on my skin would signal a message I'd rather not send.

Instead, I hopped in the shower and let the water burn my skin. The pain helped me forget everything, but it didn't last. In fact, no sooner than I'd gotten out, I felt weak again. Looking in the mirror and seeing myself made me feel sick.

I changed, and we were on the road again.


	11. Chapter 11

We'd made it to the police station with an hour to spare, but only because it took Mariah so long to find an outfit she liked in the local department store. (Shopping with women, as I would come to find out, was no simple task, but it made me grateful for suits and my masculinity.)

When she had finally settled on a pair of pinstriped work pants and some v-neck blouse, we were on our way. Though I was aggravated, and surprised by Dean's apparent intent to bring her with us (and not just leave her in the car) this delay and her presence seemed only to benefit us. Well, sort of.

Dean, for some reason, chose to arm Mariah with a notebook and pen—playing her off as an intern. I just wish he had chosen to give her some sort of insight as to what was about to unfold, because in retrospect, it had nearly been our demise.

"Good afternoon, Officers." Dean smiled, as we flashed our badges in unison. A gray haired man looked up from his half-hearted conversation with the four other officers and studied us with even less enthusiasm.

"Agents." He greeted. "How can I help you?"

I caught a glimpse of Mariah's reaction to our aliases and felt a sudden shock wash over me. My mouth went dry and my heart began racing as I realized my brother hadn't prepped her for this little scheme. No script, no mission, not even the decency to tell her we were about to commit a felony. This was crazy—he was going to get us caught—incarcerated—surely he knew that.

I knew he could be reckless at times, but this? Some line had definitely been crossed, but now was not the time to get into that. Now was 'pretend we were federal agents' time.

Still, my mind wandered back to the hotel—and the slamming door. I thought for sure he'd have given her some 'heads up' on our operation, but I should have known better. After all, it was Dean's crazy idea to let her tag along with us in the first place; why would I assume he wouldn't bring her in blind?

She was going to blow this for us.

Dean quickly stepped in front of her and spoke up.

"Well, we're here to investigate the alleged vampire attacks that have been plaguing the area. Rumor has it, Malden was the last city targeted."

"Targeted?" The man questioned with a note of suspicion in his tired eyes, "Are you serious? Vampires?" He laughed, not having time for this poppycock as he would come to call it. Dean just smiled.

"Unfortunately, Sir, we believe that the so-called 'vampire attacks' are actually the work of a very, very sick man. Serial killer, actually. Gets off on the whole cult-thing. My partner and I have been tracking him across the country. "

I saw either laughter or fear blooming all around the table, but before anyone could speak a word, a new voice interrupted.

"Wait!"

The desperation we heard was as clear as a bell, and all eyes turned to the man who'd been standing silently in the doorway of an interrogation room. A civilian, I gauged by the look of his clothes. He wore rounded glasses, faded blue carpenter jeans and a dark brown polo shirt with green and blue stripes—the likelihood of him being an off duty cop were slim, but not impossible.

It was the worry on his face that most confirmed my theory.

"David? Does this have something to do with Amy?"

David, the man we'd been speaking to and eldest in the room, shook his head. "Bill, don't worry. I'm sure that Amy is just fine."

"Amy?" Dean questioned, curiously. He scratched his cheekbone hoping to encourage more information from our only cooperative source.

"My daughter." Bill said with fear radiating in his eyes. "She's been missing since last night. This isn't like her. She's a good girl.. Oh… You said there was a serial killer? Could he have her? Oh God, Oh…"

"No!" Mariah gasped in realizing the father's agony. We all felt it, but Dean and I were far more used to seeing the grief.

It was almost ironic, though. Had we not spent several hours in a department store picking out the 'perfect casual outfit that mixed work with play' we might not have met Bill or heard his story about Amy. However, if Mariah had stayed in the car, there definitely would not have been so many close calls blowing up our cover story.

As though he hadn't even noticed her before, David jumped from his seat, agitated, and began yelling. "Who is this? Is that a reporter!"

"Job shadow." Dean quickly covered with a laugh, though his eyes may have relayed a hint of regret for his façade choice. Maybe he had intended her to be a reporter and not an intern—I will never know or care. I just know Mariah was wishing she could have eaten her words or simply disappeared in that moment.

"The press is not to know about this!" David instructed firmly, glaring at Dean as his face grew a few shades redder. Detecting the tension, and my brother's intense stare back into David's eyes, I spoke up.

"That's fine." I say, "in fact, we'd prefer it that way. We don't need another Dallas on our hands, do we?" I turn to Dean, who lets out an appropriate look of disgust, as if something horrible had happened in Texas. Our pledge of discretion relaxes David a bit, but causes no relief for Bill.

"My daughter is missing." His eyes beg us to consider this fact, "Doesn't anyone care?"

"Finding your daughter is our highest priority." I lied, knowing she was probably out on a bender somewhere. "But we'll need to ask you few questions, is that ok? "

"Anything." He murmurs, shaking his head and reaching for a chair. "But I feel, I.. I should sit down, first."

"Bill," Dean starts, after he is seated. "Is your daughter ….into vampires?"

"No." He responds strongly "Never! She hates the damn things."

"What about black magic? The occult? Urban Legends?"

"No! Absolutely not." Bill persists, rubbing his brow with his whole hand.

"What about her friends at school?" Dean then asks, hoping to find some connection.

"She's home schooled. We're a proud Christian family, Agent…."

"Levine." Dean said, "You can call me Adam."

Just like that, Mariah's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. The reference went unnoticed by everyone else.

"Did she know a Mary Hastings?" Dean asks to smooth things over.

"Not that I know of. But she is good friends with Andy Pierece, and Lily Clait. Amy calls Lily her a B.F.F. She always invites Amy to all the school functions. They're like sisters."

"Ok, we'll need to get in touch with them all. I'm assuming you know how to get in touch with them?"

Bill nodded, and as he did, tears swelled in his eyes.

"When was the last time you saw your daughter?" I interrupt, though honestly I am checked-out of the conversation. I just can't stand the thought of seeing this man cry. I can't get emotional myself.

"Last night… we had words." Bill said remorsefully. "I know she isn't technically a missing person for another 8 hours, but do you think…?"

"It's hard to say," I tell him with soft eyes. "Could we have Lily's address? And the others' as well."

"Of course." Bill said reaching for the paper on David's desk. He quickly jotted down some addresses and one phone number. "I put my number down, just in case you need anything else. Please find her. Find my baby girl."

"We will certainly do everything in our power, Bill." Dean nodded as he took the paper. With an abundance of gratitude, Bill shook our hands and left.

As for David, well, the term 'glare' wasn't strong enough for the way he looked at my brother and our intern. I could tell that he was not buying any of this.

"So, about those alleged vampires." Dean's eyes joked with a glow. David King rolled his own and asked to see our badges again, but as he turned to his crew to laugh, I noticed the stripes on his uniform. He was the highest ranking officer in the room, and not only had he probably been here the longest, but he was the one to bluff.

I knew if I could just shut him up, the others would fall in line, so I took a deep breath and let my face fall void of any emotion, then with a voice tinted with annoyance, I said, "With all due respect, Sergeant King, a kid is missing, here, and as far as I'm concerned you're refusal to cooperate is an obstruction of justice"

I pulled my badge out quickly so as to prove I wasn't hiding anything, but continued my spiel as though he was wasting valuable time. "Not only is the clock ticking on this one, but we have irrefutable evidence suggesting a serial killer is, in fact, involved—now are you going to help us, or do I need to call my buddy at the D.A.'s office and get his help instead?"

The big words and look in my eyes was enough to grab his attention—instead of sticking to his hunch, he shakes his head regrettably, and instructed Officer Campbell to grab the case file and looked impatiently at his watch.

"Boys," he says to us, pausing when he remembers Mariah, "Lady, you're in good hands. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a benefit I'm incredibly late for. The guys here will take good care of you. Get you whatever you need."

"Thank you," I say, and David brushes past us for the door.

"We'll be sure to note your full cooperation in our report," Dean adds, half sarcastic. The comment causes the sergeant to pause, turn back, and shake hands with me and my brother.

"It's appreciated," He smiles, with a flare of interest in his eyes. That's when I can tell he is up to something.


	12. Chapter 12

"Here they are," Campbell says, returning with two folders so small it is almost a joke. "There isn't much, just a few statements. That's all we have so far. Plus Bill's report, but we won't be able to start that until tomorrow morning."

Dean flips through the files and nods his head as he skims them. "You call this police work?"

I see the agitation appear on Campbell's face, and I change the subject. "Were there any eye witnesses? To any of the attacks?" My question gives him pause. He thinks about it for a decent length of time before shaking his head.

"No," He crosses his arms. "Any other questions?"

Dean finishes up and hands me the file, but the look on his face convinces me not to waste any more time with it. Typically, I wouldn't care about what he found to be irrelevant, and I would have read the statements myself just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. However, today was not a typical day, and quite frankly I didn't care much about vampires that didn't kill people.

"Thank you," I said to Officer Campbell as I handed him the file.

"So are we done?" Campbell asks, with a tone that seems to imply he has somewhere else to be.

"Actually, could you get us a list of addresses?" Dean speaks up, "For follow-ups. We have a few specific questions we need to ask regarding the abduction attempts."

"Sure thing. Macie? Could you print these gentlemen a list of addresses for the 'Vampire attacks'?" Campbell laughed to the woman at the front desk.

"Absolutely," She smiled with rolling eyes and within five minutes we were on our way.

"Adam Levine?" Mariah scoffed as we exited the police station. "Federal Agents? What the hell was that?"

The horror in her eyes was more evidence of my brother's failure to enlighten her. Dean just smirked, "I needed something creative."

She shook her head angrily. "Creative? How about insane? You're going to jail. I can't go to jail. I shouldn't be here."

"Please," He laughed it off, "Do you really think that guy remembers anything about a pop-rock band who had a few big hits last year?"

"It was five years ago," She corrected, realizing that distance might have only proven his point. Dean paused to count the years on his fingers, but never made it past two. After realizing how much time had passed, he shook his head.

"You hungry? I'm hungry."

Mariah rolled her eyes, and I shook my head in disbelief. Dean just tucked the list Marcie had given him into his shirt pocket and pulled out his car keys. We back-tracked to some local burger joint that had caught Dean's eye on the way down.

I suppose eating made sense, because we hadn't had lunch, and even though they'd had a late breakfast, by the time we'd left the police station it was well after five.

I still didn't know how he could eat. Mariah too. Just the sound of the restaurant made me queasy. The talking, the ordering, plates clattering and grills sizzling, and the smells didn't help either. I imagine I had already turned green long before the stench of grilled fat hit me.

"Double-Decker with double bacon, and throw in a double order of fries. I'm starved." Dean grinned and Mariah ordered a salad. Curiosity momentarily subdued the nausea as I realized this was the second time she'd requested a vegetarian-like dish. Ironic, considering my brother had already ordered enough heart-attack for the two of them. I would have honestly been surprised had the restaurant had any meat left in stock.

But still, fixating on this tiny detail seemed important. It got my mind off of Kiers, and the sickness I felt every time I even thought about food.

"And you?" Our waitress asked, politely enough, but I hated her for asking.

"Just a coffee, thanks." I say, but the waitress laughs loudly, pulling off her reading glasses with a pitiful expression.

"Does this look like Dunkin' Donuts, son?" She scowls, and waits for me to change my order.

"Beer?" I ask, but her face remains unchanged.

"I'll have water." I finally add and it brings a smile to her lips.

"Bottled or tap?" She then asks, and at this point I could care less.

"Surprise me." I grumble, and she finally leaves. I sigh, letting go of the irritability that has pooled up in my chest. Then I notice my brother's eyes on me and that suffocating feeling returns.

"What?" I snap, and his eyes dart away.

"Nothing," He lies, and Mariah licks her lips. The two of them exchange glances and then Dean reaches in his pocket for the two lists from the police station.

"So how's this for a coincidence? Amy's friend Andy is on the witness list for the attempted abduction last week."

"That's weird." I admit, because I suppose it is a bit coincidental. Even if it is not, I'm thankful for the subject-change. I feel better knowing my brother won't pry into my emotions with Mariah sitting by.

"Exactly. You know, this is feeling more and more like a prank."

"So then why don't we hit the road?" I say anxiously, "It will be at least another two days before we make it to Bobby's."

"Sam, there's a girl missing." Dean replies unnerved.

"And you know the likelihood of why that is, right?" I snort, "Come on, Dean, she's got strict Christian parents—you of all people know what that means."

"You had strict Christian parents?" Mariah questioned, surprised.

Dean chuckled, "no, I was the reason… Nevermind. Anyway, I'm thinking I want to talk to this Andy kid. Why don't you talk to the BFF, Lily. But we might as well just wait until tomorrow, now. We can stop by the school and talk to the other kids as well—get a feel for everyone. See who the goths and sadists are—my money is on the Lily chick."

"Ok." I mutter, "And what about our intern?" My eyes glance to Mariah.

"I'm sitting this one out." She says with a great distance in her eyes—one that I cannot explain. I ignore it, thinking it must have something to do with the crimes she's now officially an accomplice in; what else would be bothering her?

Dean's eyes fall to the table and a sigh escapes his lips. "So what is our plan?"

I shake my head unsure of what he means, so he elaborates on his question.

"When we find the vampires, what are we going to do?"

"Kill them and then head to Bobby's." I state indifferently. "What else would we do?"

"I thought we didn't kill vampires that didn't kill people," He questions curiously, "That was your rule, wasn't it?"

I find myself annoyed again, "You know that was different."

Mariah's eyes intensify as she tries to figure out what we're talking about, but I really don't want to have this conversation. Not here, not now, not in front of her. Honestly, all I want to do at this point is curl up and die somewhere.

"There is obviously a difference between vampires who are in hiding and vampires that are attacking kids for kicks—whether or not they are killing, they have the capability. It's only a matter of time before someone dies as a result of their excursions."

I explain to him, all the while hoping it isn't too late for Amy.

"I'm just saying, you need to get your head in this game, Sam."

"Seriously?" I ask, offended. One minute he's assuming that I'm incapable of killing a vampire, and now he's implying I'm too distracted for the hunt? I don't even want to try to figure out what is in HIS head—Instead I get up and leave. I can't deal with him, not today.


	13. Chapter 13

I decide to walk back to the hotel, and as I do, I whip out my cell phone to call Bobby. His voicemail picks up without a single ring, which only adds to my stress.

"Hey-uh… Bobby, It's Sam." I say after a deep, objective breath. "Look, it's been about a week, and we haven't heard from you. Could you please call me back? Ok? We could really use some help with something, but honestly I just want to make sure you're all right. Ok, well, I'll talk to you soon." I hoped as I hung up the phone.

I was tempted to hurl the device at the ground, but that would be pointless. Instead I squeeze it before sliding it back into my pocket.

The night's air was chilly, and the stench of city kept me from thinking about Kiers. Until, of course I realized that McDonald's frylator and the exhaust from busses and cars kept me from thinking about her—then I couldn't stop thinking about her. I wondered if she had woken up yet, but I knew she hadn't. Mariah would have told me if there had been good news—but would she have told me if there had been bad news? What if... No. I couldn't think that way. I couldn't think any way. I had to stop.

I shoved my hands deep into my pant pockets until my arms felt strained. Then I relaxed a bit and thought about how cold it was. I thought about the smell of French fries and buses, and if I'd get mugged. Then I carefully stared down anyone and everyone who walked by me until I made it back to the hotel.

All I could think about was that slamming door. Mariah had stormed out of our room for some reason, and I'd probably never find out why. Made the whole, hideously painted hotel seem haunting and dark.

It was 6:15 when I saw that funny purple building, but I keep walking— half in hopes of running into a vamp and half because I just didn't want to be caged in a room alone with my thoughts. I'd much rather be walking.

The cold felt nice.

A half an hour later, I found myself ignoring Dean's calls. After debating turning back, I sided against that and kept on walking until I found myself at a small bar. I found myself drawn to it, for some reason, maybe because I had really wanted a beer back at the restaurant, or maybe because I was freezing. I didn't really care, I just wanted to stop in and sit for a minute.

Without a second thought, I pushed open the door and became instantly surrounded by clouds of smoke and the stench of sour whiskey. Pushing past an abundance of childhood memories, I was suddenly conscious of the fact all eyes were on me. Then I forced out a smile and ordered a round of drinks; the locals accepted me with a drunken cheer. That was the last thing I remembered until morning.

Looking back, it is easy to say that filling my empty stomach with beer that night was an obvious lapse of judgment on my part. In my twenty-four years of living, I had learned a thing or two about alcohol, especially having Dean as my older brother. But what I didn't know was that I'd spend the rest of my life regretting that night. Why?

Well, I wouldn't know that for another two years, but let's just say her name was…

God, I don't even remember her name. She wasn't even my type. I just rolled over that morning, and there she was, smiling at me.

She had dark skin, dark eyes, and a brilliant smile that I would never forget.

Any other day, I would have panicked. I would have jumped from that bed and run out of sheer embarrassment. I would have apologized, or been so disgusted with myself I wouldn't know what to say—because this was not me. I wasn't Dean, and I definitely didn't just sleep around for the fun of it. But, here I was in the company of a total stranger. Maybe it was the depression, or the keg I felt I may have ingested, but I just stared at her. This unknown woman in my bed—or this unknown woman whose bed I was in (because clearly we were not back at the hotel.)

The woman smiled at me, crawled closer, and slipped one of her hands beneath the sheet. A slight gasp escaped me as her hot lips met my neck. The only interruption was my cell phone. I reached for it, ignoring my brother's hundredth call.

Two hours later, I met Dean at the high school, where he worked very hard to pretend he hadn't been concerned about my disappearance.


End file.
